Complete Works of Robert Louis Stevenson

by Robert Louis Stevenson

  The house at Vailima with the additions made to the first structure.

  In the midst of all these labours there were a thousand other troubles to be met and conquered — servants’ quarrels in the kitchen, for Samoans are not a whit different in such respects from domestics all the world over, jealousy between the house boys and the out boys, constant alarms about devils and bewitchments, and, above all, sickness of all sorts to be sympathized with and cured. For help in all these derangements every one went to the mistress, for all had a simple faith in her ability to relieve them of all their sorrows. At one time she and her daughter nursed twenty-two men through the measles — a very serious disease among the islanders. At another time the large hall at Vailima was entirely filled with the beds of influenza patients, Mr. Stevenson being isolated upstairs. In the performance of the plantation work accidents sometimes happened to the men, and she was often called upon to bind up dreadful wounds that would have made many women faint. From her earliest youth she had always been the kind of person to whom every one instinctively turns in an emergency. When Mr. Stevenson was ill she understood what he wanted by the merest gesture, and was always calm, reassuring, and self-reliant, never breaking down until after the crisis was past. She was a most delightful nurse otherwise, too, for when her children were sick in bed she entertained them with cheerful stories to divert their minds, and when they were convalescent made tempting dishes for them to eat. One of my own dear memories is of a time when, as a little child, I lay dangerously and painfully ill, unable to move even a hand, and she lightened my sufferings immeasurably by buying a Noah’s ark and arranging the animals on a little table by my bedside where I could look at them. When her husband was having one of his speechless illnesses at Vailima she allowed only one at a time to go in to him, under orders to be entertaining and to recount amusing little adventures of the household. She herself was an adept at this, though when she came out she left her smile at the bedroom door. For his amusement she would sit by his bedside and play her famous game of solitaire, learned so long ago from Prince Kropotkin, the Russian revolutionist. He would make signs when she went wrong and point at cards for her to take up. Sometimes she read trashy novels to him, for they both liked such reading when it was bad enough to be funny.

  With the childlike Samoans she found sympathy to be as necessary as medical treatment for their ails. An interesting example of this was the case of Eliga, who was afflicted with an unsightly tumour on his back. This, in a land where any sort of deformity is looked upon with horror, caused the unfortunate man great unhappiness, besides depriving him of his titles and estates. His kind master and mistress had him examined by the surgeon of an English man-of-war that was in the harbour, and the opinion was given that an operation was quite feasible. Poor Eliga, however, was stricken with terror at the thought and carefully explained that there were strings in the wen that were tied about his heart, and if they were severed he would die. Besides, he said, as his skin was different from the white man’s, his insides were probably different also. In the end, more to please them than through any faith in it, he consented to the operation, although so certain was he of a fatal ending that he had his house swept and garnished, ready for the funeral. To comfort and cheer him through the ordeal, both Mr. and Mrs. Stevenson went to his house and remained with him until all was done. The result was most happy, and the grateful man, now proudly holding up his head among his fellows, composed in honour of the event “The Song of the Wen”:

  “O Tusitala, when you first came here I was ugly and poor and deformed. I was jeered at and scorned by the unthinking. I ate grass; a bunch of leaves was my sole garment, and I had nothing to hide my ugliness. But now, O Tusitala, now I am beautiful; my body is sound and handsome; I bear a great name; I am rich and powerful and unashamed, and I owe it all to you, Tusitala. I have come to tell your highness that I will not forget. Tusitala, I will work for you all my life, and my family shall work for your family, and there shall be no question of wage between us, only loving-kindness. My life is yours, and I will be your servant till I die.”

  It was in Samoa that Mrs. Stevenson acquired the name of Tamaitai, by which she was known thenceforth to her family and intimate friends until the day of her death. English words do not come easily from the tongues of the natives, and so they obviate the difficulty by bestowing names of their own upon strangers who come to dwell among them. It was as Tusitala, the writer of tales, that Louis was best known, his wife was called Aolele, flying cloud, and her daughter, because of her kindness in giving ribbons and other little trinkets to the girls, was named Teuila, the decorator. Tamaitai is a general title, meaning “Madam,” and is used in reference to the lady of the house. Mr. Stevenson himself started the custom by calling his wife Tamaitai, and it was finally adopted by everybody and grew to be her name — the complete title being Tamaitai Aolele (Madam Aolele). These Samoan names were adopted partly as a convenience, to escape the embarrassment that sometimes arose from the habit among the natives of calling the different members of the family by their first names. It was felt to be rather undignified, for instance, that the mistress of the house should be called “Fanny” by her servants.

  Mrs. Stevenson, as I have said before, was a famous cook, and had learned how to make at least some of the characteristic dishes of each of the many countries where she had sojourned awhile in her long wanderings. From her mother she had inherited many an old Dutch receipt — peppery pot, noodle soup, etc.; in France she acquired the secret of preparing a bouillabaise, sole à la marguery, and many others; from Abdul, an East Indian cook she brought from Fiji, she learned how to make a wonderful mutton curry which contained more ingredients than perhaps any other dish on earth; in the South Seas she picked up the art of making raw-fish salad; and now at Vailima she lost no time in adding Samoan receipts to her list. She soon knew how to prepare to perfection a pig roasted underground and eaten with Miti sauce, besides dozens of other dishes, including ava for drinking.

  It was not the least of her duties to play the hostess to a remarkable assortment of guests — the Chief Justice, officers from the men-of-war that frequently came into the harbour, Protestant, Catholic, and Mormon missionaries, all kinds of visitors to the islands, including an English duchess, and native kings and chiefs. Once a high chief, one of the highest, bearing the somewhat lengthy name of Tuimalealiifono, came on a visit to Vailima. He was quite unacquainted with white ways of living, and, when shown to his bedroom, looked askance at the neat, comfortable bed that had been prepared for him. In the morning it was found that he had scorned the bed, and, retiring to the piazza, had rolled himself up in his mat and lain down to pleasant dreams. At table, although he had never before seen knives and forks, he picked up their use instantly by quietly observing the manners of the others.

  A curious episode, which might have turned out to be dangerous, happened during the war troubles, when King Malietoa went up to Vailima secretly to have a talk with Tusitala. After the talk Louis offered him a present, asking what he preferred. Malietoa said he would like a revolver, and Louis took one from the safe and handed it to his wife, who happened to be sitting next the king. She emptied the chambers, as she thought, and then, not noticing that the thing was pointing straight at the king’s heart, she clicked it five times. By a lucky chance, before clicking it the sixth time she looked in, and behold, there was the last cartridge! If she had given the last click she certainly would have killed the king, and one can imagine the complications that would have resulted in those uneasy times. Of course the episode, with all the dramatic possibilities attached to it, appealed to the romantic imaginations of the two Stevensons, and, after the king’s departure, they spent the evening in making up a harrowing tale about what would have happened if she had killed him.

  Among the notable visitors to Vailima was the Italian artist Pieri Nerli, who came to paint Mr. Stevenson’s portrait — the one that now hangs in Swanson Cottage in Scotland. This portrait pleased his wife as
little as did the Sargent picture, and, in a letter to Lord Guthrie of Edinburgh, she makes what Lord Guthrie calls “an acute criticism of this overdramatized likeness.” She says: “It would have been all right if Nerli had only been content to paint just Louis, and had not insisted on representing instead the author of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde.”

  It was not all work at Vailima by any means. “Socially,” she writes, “Samoa was not dull. There were many entertainments given by diplomats and officials in Apia. Besides native feasts there were afternoon teas, evening receptions, dinner parties, private and public balls, paper chases on horseback, polo, tennis parties, and picnics. Sometimes a party of flower-wreathed natives might come dancing over the lawn at Vailima, or a band of sailors from a man-of-war would be seen gathered in an embarrassed knot at the front gate.” She herself cared little for these entertainments, and usually busied herself in helping others with the preparations for them. Her mother-in-law writes: “A fancy dress ball has been held in honor of the birthday of the Prince of Wales. Fanny designed a costume for Mrs. Gurr (a pretty Samoan girl) as Zenobia, Empress of the East. She wore a Greek dress, made in part of cotton stuff with a gold pattern stamped on it; over this a crimson chuddah was correctly draped, with a gold belt, many beads, and an elaborate gold crown.”

  From the busy round of her many-sided activities she took time now and then to do a little writing, though in truth she had little liking for it nor any high regard for her own literary style, in which she complained of a certain “dry nippedness” that she detested but could not get rid of. It was only when she wanted some extra money for her water-works at Vailima that she “took her pen in hand” and wrote a story for Scribners.

  All this sounds hurried and breathless, but in reality these activities were spread out over far more time than appears in the telling of them, and there were peaceful intervals of rest and happiness in seeing Louis well and able for the first time to bear his share in hospitality.

  Always, high above every other purpose, was her unfailing devotion to her husband and his work, and no other task ever interfered with her careful watch over his health and her keen interest in his writing. He appreciated her aid from the bottom of his heart, and in the dedication to his last unfinished novel, Weir of Hermiston, he endeavours to express in some degree his profound sense of obligation:

  “I saw the rain falling and the rainbow drawn

  On Lammermuir. Hearkening, I heard again

  In my precipitous city beaten bells

  Winnow the keen sea wind. And here afar,

  Intent on my own race and place I wrote.

  Take thou the writing; thine it is. For who

  Burnished the sword, blew on the drowsy coal,

  Held still the target higher; chary of praise

  And prodigal of counsel — who but thou?

  So now in the end; if this the least be good,

  If any deed be done, if any fire

  Burn in the imperfect page, the praise be thine.”

  This was to the critic; to the wife he wrote:

  “Trusty, dusky, vivid, true,

  With eyes of gold and bramble-dew,

  Steel true and blade straight

  The great Artificer made my mate.

  Honor, anger, valor, fire,

  A love that life could never tire,

  Death quench, or evil stir,

  The mighty Master gave to her.

  Teacher, tender comrade, wife,

  A fellow-farer true through life,

  Heart whole and soul free,

  The August Father gave to me.”

  As the years passed, their comradeship grew closer, and, indeed, their relationship can perhaps be expressed in no better way than to call them “comrades,” with all that the word implies. In writing to her he usually called her “My dear fellow,” and in speaking often addressed her in the same way. His attachment and admiration for her steadily increased in proportion to his longer acquaintance with her. Once at Vailima they were all playing a game called “Truth,” in which each person writes a list of the qualities — courage, humour, beauty, etc. — supposed to be possessed by the others, with the corresponding ratio in numbers, ten being the maximum. Louis put his wife down as ten for beauty. She argued with him that he must be perfectly honest and not complimentary; he looked at her in amazement and said: “I am honest; I think you are the most beautiful woman in the world.”

  Once when her birthday, the 10th of March, came around, she found on waking these verses pinned to the netting of her bed:

  “To the Stormy Petrel

  “Ever perilous

  And precious, like an ember from the fire

  Or gem from a volcano, we to-day

  When drums of war reverberate in the land

  And every face is for the battle blacked —

  No less the sky, that over sodden woods

  Menaces now in the disconsolate calm

  The hurly-burly of the hurricane —

  Do now most fitly celebrate your day.

  Yet amid turmoil, keep for me, my dear,

  The kind domestic fagot. Let the hearth

  Shine ever as (I praise my honest gods)

  In peace and tempest it has ever shone.”

  She said these verses were the best of all her birthday presents. He called her the “stormy petrel” in reference to her birth in the wild month of March, and because she was such a fiery little person. When she took sides in an argument he would say, in mild irony: “The shouts of the women in the opposite camp were heard demanding the heads of the prisoners.”

  All through the daily entries in her diary, mingled with the incidents of the household, runs the talk of impending war:

  “War news continues exciting, and there are threats of a massacre of all the whites. Although nothing of the kind is really anticipated, I think it would be better to look up our cartridges. Lafaele has blacked his face in the fashion of a warrior, saying he must be prepared to protect the place. He has a very sore toe, which he thinks is bewitched. He sent for the Samoan doctor, a grave middle-aged man, who announced that a devil, instigated by some enemy, has entered the toe and is now on the point of travelling up the leg, and unless it is checked in time will soon have possession of Lafaele’s entire body.

  “March 22. This entry is written in Suva, Fiji. For a long time I had not been well, and so I was sent off in the steamer to this place, though I went with a heavy heart, for I thought Louis did not look well. I have been to the botanical gardens, which are in charge of a pleasant young man from Kew, and have secured four boxes of plants for Vailima. The young man told me, as a trade secret, that if cauliflowers get an occasional watering of sea water they will head up in any climate. I have also secured an East Indian cook named Abdul.

  “September 23. At home again. I find that Lloyd and the Strongs have been teaching a native boy named Talolo to cook, with the best results, so my fine Indian cook is a fifth wheel. However, Mr. Haggard has agreed to take him — though he seems very reluctant to leave Vailima.

  “October 28. Paul left us some time ago to be overseer on a German plantation. Before he left, in his blundering desire to do all he could for me, he transplanted a lot of my plants, all wrong, and in fact did all the damage he well could in so short a time. I felt sorry to see the last of him, for with all his mistakes his heart was in the right place. Much more distressing is it that our dear Simile is gone. He wept very much in leaving, saying that ‘his poor old family’ needed him. I was told afterwards that he had in reality eloped with a young lady, which may be the truth of the matter. Talolo, our new cook, amuses me very much. He was greatly shocked at hearing of the scalping of victims by American Indians, but thought the taking of heads in the Samoan fashion perfectly right, as the victim was then dead and felt nothing.

  “November 2. Talolo’s mother, a very respectable woman indeed, came to see us, bringing with her a relative who is almost blind from cataract. They were shown over the house and cou
ld be heard at every moment crying out in Samoan ‘How extremely beautiful!’ Even when shown into the cellar, where it was quite dark, they were heard to make the same remark.... Last Saturday Lloyd marshalled up all the men before they left for their Sunday at home and administered to each a blue pill. One fellow was caught hiding his in his cheek and was made to swallow it amid shouts of laughter. I feared they would never come back, but all returned on Monday morning declaring they were much improved in health.

  “We are all blazing with cacao-planting zeal, and we already have over six hundred plants set out. The method of planting them is very laborious, for the seeds must first be set in baskets made of plaited cocoanut leaves, and when the sprouts come up they are put in the earth, basket and all; in this way the roots are not disturbed and in time the basket decays in the damp soil and drops off. The whole family has been infected with the planting fever, and even Mrs. Stevenson works away at it most gallantly. To-day is Sunday, but we must all, the family and the house boys, plant the seeds that are left.

  “November 30. Simile has come back in a sad condition from a wound with a spear or club in the back of his head, and much distressed over the state of his ‘poor old family’.... We have now set out 1,200 cacao plants. All yesterday Joe and I were superintending the building of a bridge over the river. We had two trees cut down for the purpose; one of them was of the most lovely pinkish wood, with salmon pink bark, and emitted a perfume like a mixture of sassafras and wintergreen.... Last night we were somewhat alarmed by earthquake shocks and rifle shots. Yesterday three of the chairs made by the carpenter out of our own wood, mahogany, and designed from an antique model, came up. They are very satisfactory — a beautiful shape and comfortable to sit in.”